


Blindsided

by B_eden



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, Tales From Riftdale, The Riftdale Chronicles, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Fear, Fear Play, First Time, Hostage Situation, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Kidnapping, M/M, Sight deprivation, fear kink, stockholm's syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18388961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_eden/pseuds/B_eden
Summary: Christian drags Bart along to his drug dealer’s house where there is a party raging full-swing. The dealer let’s Christian borrow his extremely dark bedroom to get some much needed sleep, and Christian forces Bart to stay with him. Will the artist be able to relax amid the chaos, or do even darker things await him?





	Blindsided

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna know more about me as a writer and a person, (please follow I get so lonely and insecure) you can follow my:
> 
> Blog: https://caspercrowblog.wordpress.com  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/CrowCasper  
> Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/writercaspercrow

Christian only spared a glance over his shoulder as he moved through the crowded country home. “I’m gonna talk to a guy about a thing. Be right back.”

 

         

Bart’s fingers clenched against his own arms as he hugged himself tighter. That meant that Christian was talking to the same guy about more cocaine that he talked to the other four times he’d brought him to this place over the last month. This time, however, there was a party raging full swing. Bart huffed noisily as a dancing couple violently rammed into his shoulder spinning him forty-five degrees.

 

 

“Bart!” Christian was looking at him pointedly like he was waiting for him to answer. Bart could only whine that he hadn’t heard him, so Christian repeated himself. “Don’t go where I can’t see you!”

 

 

Bart tried to throw him a pleading expression that would communicate he really didn’t want to be there, but Christian was already turning away from him in search of Billy, or Buddy, or Brody, or whatever his name was. Bart stared after him for only a moment before he was rammed several more times and realized he needed to find a safer place to stand.

 

 

Bart thought he found an opening in the crowd only to trip over a couple who were rolling around on the floor in passion. He fell to his hands and knees, grabbing for his hat and stuffing it back on his head as he barely kept his fingers from beneath dancing feet. The artist crawled between a forest of busy legs until he reached a wall to pull himself up. He gasped for breath as he clung to the side of a fireplace like a life raft, and he scanned the room for Christian. The priest had found his guy. He already had more powder along his nose as he nodded while the drug dealer leaned on his shoulder and laughed excessively.

 

 

“You lost, city boy?” Bart jumped when the heavy scent of liquor wafted right into his face. A rather rough-looking giant caught his weight on a bear paw-sized hand against the wall just over the artist’s head. “What kinda hat is this, frenchy?” He thumped Bart’s beret.

 

 

Bart looked back to Christian. He wasn’t paying attention. Not that he would have cared if Bart was being harassed even if he had noticed. A distant part of Bart’s heart hoped that Christian would at least care enough to keep him from harm, but reality was often cruel to the lonely artist.

 

 

“Whatcha lookin’ at? Ah, you heard of Christian, eh? Seen him around? I wouldn’t get too close to that one, darlin’. He’d just as soon kill ya as look at ya.”

 

 

“Um...uh...” Bart cleared his throat nervously. “Th-thank you for your concern.” He pinched his forehead as if he had a headache in the hopes of hiding from the attention.

 

 

“You here by yourself?”

 

 

“N-no.” Bart coughed again. “No. I’m waiting for someone. With someone. Very. Very with someone.”

 

 

“I don’t think you are.” He laughed suggestively and clutched Bart’s chin to force him to look at him. Bart tried to pull away with a clear expression of disgust, but he didn’t release him. “I think you’re here lookin’ for attention.”

 

 

“I am most certainly _not_ looking for attention, sir.”

 

 

“Then why you dressed like that? So queer?”

 

 

Bart blinked rapidly. “I hadn’t realized the dress code here called for muddy overalls and faded flannel dipped in...” He sniffed at the man before turning away with an exaggerated gag. “Pig feces.”

 

 

The giant’s fists were tangled in Bart’s shirt and he was up against the wall before the artist knew what hit him. “Why you little fucking-”

 

 

“CHRISTIAN! HELP! CHRISTIAN!”

 

 

But, somehow, Christian was already there. The man’s eyes crossed as he stared down the barrel of Christian’s gun. The giant held his hands up high overhead. “Wow! I didn’t know he was with you! I didn’t know!”

 

 

Christian rolled his eyes with an irritated sigh loud enough to hear over the music. He pulled the gun away as he clamped his other hand around Bart’s wrist. “Get over here.” He jerked the artist along toward the doorway where the drug dealer and owner of the home was waiting patiently. “You got anywhere I can sleep without having to watch my fucking back so hard? I’m so goddamn tired.”

 

 

“Yeah, sure. For you, just take my room. No one will go in there. You just going to sleep, or am I gonna interrupt something if I come in there?”

 

 

“I’m just sleeping.”

 

 

“Right. I might need my bed if I get lucky tonight. You want me to wake you or just let you sleep while I...”

 

 

“Just let me sleep. I really don’t give a fuck.”

 

 

Bart was trying not to panic as the thought crossed him that Christian might be about to leave him alone at this place while he slept, but Christian didn’t release his arm as he headed for the stairs. Then another fear washed over him as he realized Christian was dragging him up to a bedroom alone. Every bedroom they passed by on the way was filled with people in various stages of intimate encounters. He was really going to sleep, right?

 

 

Christian seemed to know which bedroom belonged to the drug dealer as he opened a door at the end of the hall. He didn’t bother to turn on a light before he shut the door behind him. Bart blinked as he failed to see in the complete darkness. He flinched when he felt something touch his face.

 

 

“Relax. I’m setting your glasses on a side table.” Christian grumbled before taking his hat. “Come this way.” He snorted when Bart tripped against the bed. “There. You’re at the bed. It’s big. King size. This is the side. It’s against the wall. Head of the bed is up this way.” Bart heard Christian’s hand pat the bed to his left before he heard rustling that he assumed was Christian turning down the covers. “Take your shoes off. Now, Bart! Good. Now, climb across all the way to the wall, and put your back against the wall, and your head on the pillows.”

 

 

Bart did as he was told. He was surprised that the sheets smelled clean. That didn’t mean they were clean, though. “Th-this is repulsive, Christian.” He felt the bed dip, and then he heard what he identified after a moment was Christian untying his combat boots. “H-how many people have been in here tonight already?”

 

 

“Nobody’s been in here but the guy who owns the place. We’re friends. I guess. So I get _privileges_.” He emphasized _privileges_ , and for some reason Bart felt a chill at the word.

 

 

“You seem to know your way around in here.”

 

 

Christian was suddenly too quiet and still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

 

“N-nothing. I just...I can’t see anything, is all. You seem to know where everything is without any light.”

 

 

“Meaning...”

 

 

“Nothing! Nothing negative, Christian! Do you sleep here often, maybe?”

 

 

“Oh.” Christian continued to remove his shoes. “Yeah.” The mattress dipped again, but then Bart gasped and sat up when the movement came right up to him instead of staying across the large bed. “Down. Back against the wall.” Christian pushed the artist down as he faced away from him and pushed his body flush back against him to pin him to the wall.

 

 

Bart swallowed heavily as the sandwiching pressure immediately worked to make him feel safe and drowsy, but he summoned his common sense to question what was happening. “C-Christian?”

 

 

“What?” Christian droned as he found Bart’s arm and pulled it to wrap around his waist. He clamped his own arm over the artist’s as if he was afraid someone might drag Bart away if he didn’t have a hold on him.

 

 

“W-why...um...why are we sleeping like this?”

 

 

“Don’t scare yourself. Just go to sleep.”

 

 

“S-s-scare m-myself with what?”

 

 

Christian sighed loud in agitation. “Look, alright. I’m pretty sure Buddy doesn’t even like guys, but just in case, I want to make sure it’s clear you’re not on the table when he eventually comes in here.”

 

 

“Sh-should I be concerned about-”

 

 

“No. He’s not gonna try and touch my shit. You’re fine...as long as you just fucking do what I say and stay really close.” _His shit?_ “Now if you wake up and someone is in here, just give me a nudge if it doesn’t seem like I woke up. But I’ll wake up, so don’t worry about it. Go to sleep.”

 

 

“But no one else will come in here, right?”

 

 

“I highly doubt it. That’s why I’m sleeping in here. But that guy was staring down your mouth pretty hard, so just stay hanging onto me so I’ll know right away if someone tries to drag you off the foot of the bed or something. Don’t let go of me.”

 

 

Christian grunted as if he was annoyed when Bart did what he asked as the artist squeezed him far too desperately. He stiffened when he felt Bart burrow his face into his back as if he’d been looking for a safe place to hide for years and had finally found it.

 

 

Bart’s voice was so small, so vulnerable, when he spoke, that it wrenched the criminal’s heart. “Thank you, Christian.” He almost couldn’t hear him over the distant thump of the music downstairs.

 

 

“You realize it’s my fault you’re even in danger in the first place, right?” Christian waited for that to sink into his hostage, but Bart only nuzzled closer to him as if Christian was just the most caring guy in the world for not letting anyone rape him; as if he didn’t expect everyone in his life to do such a thing out of simple common courtesy; as if he didn’t think even strangers would notice his distress and save him from such a fate.

_Wait._ Christian came to the realization with a sharp pain. _That’s what the guy’s crying about all the time when he’s not crying out of terror that I’m going to hurt him._ Bart didn’t have anyone safe in his life. He had no one to protect him from his fears. That’s how this whole kidnapping thing had turned out so easy for Christian to accomplish. Bart wasn’t any more afraid of Christian than he was scared in daily life in general.

 

 

The only difference with Christian was that sometimes the priest would do something that Bart could construe as protective since Christian was wanting to preserve him for future use. Bart wasn’t stupid. He could comprehend that Christian was using him. He knew he was a hostage and not a friend. He just wanted to be something to someone; anything to someone. _Jesus_.

 

 

Christian thought on the matter for so long that, by the time he finally drifted off, he hadn’t been asleep for more than a few minutes when the drug dealer fell through his door in a chaotic whirl of moans and grunts and a dust cloud of ripping clothes.

 

 

“Christian!” Bart’s fingers clenched in Christian’s shirt even as he heard the criminal ready the gun beneath the pillow right under their heads.

 

 

The door closed and the bed shook violently as the couple landed on the mattress. It was aggressive and frightening, and Bart started to sit up before Christian shifted to face him and pressed him back down.

 

 

“C-Christian!” Bart whispered desperately. “H-he’s hurting that woman! W-what do we do? He’s hurting her-”

 

 

“Shhh. Calm.” Christian’s chest rumbled almost humorously as he wrapped his arms around the artist and pulled him against him. “He’s not hurting her.” He bounced slightly as he pushed them closer to the wall and pulled Bart’s quaking body against him. He warmed a hand along his arm to comfort him as he admitted to himself that Buddy, and what sounded like a woman he knew named Kristy, really did sound frightening if he hadn’t known them enough to know they were into that kind of kinky sex.

 

 

Bart flinched when the sharp sting of skin slapping skin echoed through the room three times followed by both people calling each other vulgar names.

 

 

“What, Bart?”

 

 

“W-what?”

 

 

Christian’s tone didn’t sound as irritated as his words. “You’re saying my name over and over, idiot. What do you want?” He ducked his head to try and better hear him.

 

 

Bart clenched his eyes shut even though he already couldn’t see. He dove deeper into Christian’s chest as he burst into tears that only Christian could hear in the noisy house. Christian smelled of beer and long dried sweat, and for some reason, grass. Bart found it all more familiar and not as off-putting as he’d expected if he’d ever imagined mashing his face against the criminal to have to smell him.

 

 

It was fresh-cut grass. It had to be. He must have passed out in someone’s yard, or maybe got into a fight and rolled around. His back had smelled like carpet cleaner. That was no surprise given that they kept staying in abandoned houses that had been cleaned to try and sell or rent them, and Christian definitely spent a lot of time passed out on the floor.

 

 

He must have spilled quite a lot of liquor right onto his shirt at some point. The alcohol smell wasn’t just wafting down from his breath, though there was that, too. Behind all that, though, there was a more musky, natural aroma. Bart was so confused that the simple scent of someone’s body, without layers of soap or cologne or shampoo, could be so enticing. The base scent of what was so clearly just Christian was what kept Bart pulling in one lungful after another as he memorized the raw smell of the criminal’s body.

 

 

“Are...are you smelling me?”

 

 

_Oh._ Bart realized far too late that he’d been inhaling him in desperately like a total creeper. The artist was trying to decide how to play it off like he was only sniffling from crying, though that was highly unlikely to be believable, because the way he’d been smelling the man had been pretty obvious, but then Christian only tightened his hold on him.

 

 

“Jesus, you’re fucking pitiful.”

 

 

Bart hiccuped into deeper sobs as humiliation was added to his current list of woes. He didn’t have the courage to try and turn away from the serial killer, so he could only tangle his fingers tighter in Christian’s shirt as he cried. The artist shivered when he felt Christian’s thumb feather gently across the back of his neck as he continued to hold him close despite his cruel words.

 

 

Christian meant to simply sleep through whatever Buddy got up to if he came to his room, but he found he was far too amused, and unexpectedly intrigued, with Bart’s reaction to the entire thing. The artist’s body trembled completely, and he jumped and whimpered at regular intervals with every growl and yelp the couple next to them unleashed on their ears.

 

 

Bart was trying to find anything to focus on to take his mind off all his terrors and his crippling depression on top of that. His hands and his face were pressed to Christian’s chest. The criminal’s breathing was unreasonably calm and steady amidst the sea of anarchy surrounding them. It was like he was being lulled by the chaos around them rather than concerned over any of it; as if he was so desperate for a distraction from his own thoughts that the only way he could get any peace was if his subconscious was multitasking a breakdown of everything at once.

 

 

Christian’s voice was distant as he responded to the artist when Bart began to whisper his name again a little too loud. “He’s not hurting her. Everything’s fine.” His thumb unconsciously stroked against Bart’s neck again several times as he yawned.

 

 

The priest’s lids opened into a confused frown when Bart wriggled closer to him, moving his legs in the process, and Christian felt Bart’s knee press further up towards his crotch. He definitely hadn’t noticed opening his thighs for Bart to put his knee between his legs. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation at all, however, and it seemed to be making the artist feel more comforted since he was able to writhe closer, so he allowed him to keep tangling into him to hide from his fears.

 

 

When the couple was finished with their epic screwing, they collapsed with Kristy’s hand flailing out to smack against Christian’s back.

 

 

“I didn’t know anyone was in here!” She laughed. “Christian? I know that’s you. I can fucking smell you, skank!”

 

 

“Hey fuck you!” Christian growled as Buddy snorted into a fit of laughter along with her. “I hope you fucking realize you assholes scared the fucking life out of my hostage with all that bullshit.”

 

 

“There’s another guy in here?” The bed moved as she rolled towards them. “There’s not enough room for-oh!” Her hands patted along their bodies to find them tightly enmeshed. “Oh my gosh! That is so fucking sweeet! Christian! You are the best kidnapper ever!”

 

 

Christian groaned in annoyance. “Yeah. What the fuck ever.”

 

 

“Did we work him up or something?” Her fingers traced circles along Bart’s shoulder before her hand splayed out along his back as far as it could go before hitting the wall where Christian was bracing him. Bart whimpered Christian’s name as he buried his face deeper in his chest. She hummed suggestively. “What’s he into? Would he like to get knocked around a bit? Or maybe we could tie him up and have a go since he’s a hostage, right? He should be used to it by now-hey!” She squeaked into another fit of laughter when Christian sharply slapped her hands away.

 

 

“Hands off. Don’t you have somewhere to be or something?” Christian grunted in discomfort when Bart’s clinging finally had him rubbing against his cock with all the unthinking innocence in the world.

 

 

“But, with that one guy that one time, you let the boys go ahead and-”

 

 

Christian hissed her to silence as he clamped a hand over Bart’s ear. “The fuck is your problem? You know that was different. There was a point to that.” It was too late. Bart had gone completely stiff in his arms.

 

 

“W-w-what’s she t-talking about, C-Christian?”

 

 

“Nothing. Kristy, get lost, would you? Or shut up and go to sleep.”

 

 

“Ooooh! So, he’s off limits, then? Why’s that?”

 

 

“Mind your own fucking business.” Christian didn’t realize he was tensing until he started to relax when Buddy began to coax her on to their next adventure downstairs for him. The priest cursed when Buddy also read the situation wrong and called over his shoulder before he shut the door.

 

 

“I won’t be back in here until the morning, so you’re free to work out your tensions to your heart’s content.” The door almost mercifully shut before he added, “You need anything? Like...rope or somethin’? Headboard’s strong for it. There’s actually probably some still up there on one side. You could just go at an angle. If not, just check under the bed. Help yourself.”

 

 

Christian sighed long and loud. “Yeah. Thanks. I’ll do that.” He pinched his forehead when Bart gasped in a desperate, shuddering breath as if he’d been holding it in for fear of drawing attention to himself. “What? Bart. What now?” Bart completely fell to pieces then as he cried his heart out into Christian’s chest. “Bart. Baaart. I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

 

“M-maybe not! Not right now! But I’m going to die at some point during all of this! If I’m lucky! If not, there’s no telling what’s going to become of me! I don’t want to die, Christian! I don’t want to die! And I’m not good with pain! People keep talking like they’re going to do horrible things to me, or like YOU’RE going to do horrible things to me! I’m so scared, Christian!”

 

 

Bart choked as he failed to catch his breath. “I’m so fucking scared! God I’m so fucking alone! Nobody even cares that I’m missing! No one is looking for me! I’m going to die a terrible death, and no one will even notice! I’ve never even been with anyone before, Christian! I’ve never even been kissed, and if I don’t die like this, so utterly alone, I’m going to die with someone hurting me that way! Some disgusting, barbaric, repulsive person is going to force themselves on me!”

 

 

“I’m not going to force myself on you.”

 

 

“I didn’t mean you!” Bart made a strangled noise that sounded somewhere between laughter and heartbreak.

 

 

“Listen. Calm down.” Christian warmed his hand along his arm because it had seemed to work earlier. “First off, if you ever find yourself in the situation of being closed in with a guy you think is going to have his way with you, the last thing you wanna do is work yourself into a tense, breathless mess. You’d need to work on relaxing to it or you’ll get hurt.”

 

 

Bart tensed as if his words were a threat. Christian was distracted, however, when he ran his own words through his head and suddenly found that entertaining the idea of Bart being touched or harmed was completely unacceptable throughout every inch of his soul.

 

 

“Second, don’t ever goddamn walk away from me ever for the rest of your goddamn life for a second because I’ll fucking kill anyone who even thinks about hurting you. I’m the only one allowed to hurt you.” Christian swallowed heavily in the silence that followed as he tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened. Did he basically just ask Bart to go out with him? He ran it through his head. _Yeah._ He’d phrased it in a bad-guy kind of way, but that’s what just happened.

 

 

Bart’s fingers were flexing in his shirt insecurely, and his shaking had increased tenfold as his mind was sloshed back and forth from fear to confusion and back again. The artist whined helplessly.

 

 

“God you’re pathetic.” Christian sighed as Bart’s shudder alerted him he’d been hurt by the words. “And it’s fucking beautiful, Bart.” The artist whined again at the whiplash. “Now tell me I can kiss you.”

 

 

Bart choked. “W-what?”

 

 

“I want to kiss you. Tell me I can.” Christian had a firm hold of him again as if he expected him to actually try and flee this time, but Bart only wriggled against him in his confusion and mumbled his words into his chest.

 

 

“Um...you...want to...k-kiss...kiss me?” Bart started to tilt his face up, but then he pressed his forehead back to Christian’s chest.

 

 

“That’s right.” Christian’s hand slid up along his body, across his shoulder, and then feathered along his jaw to tilt his face up. “Let me kiss you.”

 

 

Bart was still understandably spooked by everything he’d been through, and it wasn’t absurd for him to have a healthy distrust of the con artist. He gulped as he felt Christian’s breath against his cheek as he waited for his permission. “D-doesn’t kissing lead to-” He didn’t have to detail out to the criminal that he didn’t exactly have all the faith in the world in his ability to control his impulses. “To other things-”

 

 

“Mmhmm...” Christian hummed before the artist was finished voicing his concerns. His lips were close enough for Bart to feel the vibration against his skin. Christian’s thumb ran along the artist’s lips to map him out in the darkness, and Bart’s jaw trembled as his lips parted in anticipation.

 

 

“You can tell me to stop.” Christian coaxed. It wasn’t a complete lie. He could tell him to stop. It didn’t mean he would stop.

 

 

Christian pushed down against Bart’s leg so that he could feel how hard he’d become throughout the course of the artist hanging all over him. Bart’s fists clenched against him as he panicked while trying to decide whether to move toward him or away from him for comfort anymore.

 

 

“I’ll listen if you say you don’t like it.” It was probably true; mostly true. Christian wanted him to like whatever he did to him, so he’d adjust if he could find a way to make him go along with his desires.

 

 

“If I d-don’t like w-what?” Bart was highly distracted as his lips brushed Christian’s when he spoke.

 

 

The priest’s hips shifted against him in suspense as he tried to exercise self-control he wasn’t used to obeying. He groaned as the warm air from Bart’s question ghosted along his mouth. “Don’t make me beg, Bart. Let me.”

 

 

Bart wasn’t sure exactly what all the serial killer wanted from him, but he was too confused and exhausted to fight him, and he was completely hypnotized by his avid attention as Christian hovered so close. The priest was grinding against him more steadily, and Bart shivered as he felt fingers playing gently against the fastenings of his pants waiting for his signal.

 

 

“C-Christian...” The artist had so many questions, so many fears, he didn’t even know where to begin.

 

 

“Please...” It was Christian’s last attempt to let Bart hold the illusion that he’d give him a choice in the matter now that the priest realized he wanted him so goddamn badly. He purposefully dropped his hand to feign that he’d accidentally brushed between Bart’s legs before yanking his hand back as if to apologize. It had the desired effect. The artist gasped and thrust forward in seek of more contact. Christian grabbed his hips to keep the torturous few inches between them as he begged him again more insistently. “Bart...please...”

 

 

“Y-yes-” Bart barely finished whimpering out his okay before Christian’s mouth was on his. His whole body thumped against the wall as the criminal pounced on him, delving his tongue past his lips and rutting their hips together in a primal search that quickly caused Bart to lose all his senses to wave after wave of agonizingly pleasurable friction. It was too much at once, yet not nearly enough.

 

 

Christian hooked his arm around his back and pulled him forward so that he could wrench the artist’s head back forcefully and have full access to his neck. Bart’s fingers clawed at his back as the soft heat of his tongue lapped against his skin before his mouth latched onto him more completely and he sucked greedily.

 

 

Bart wasn’t sure if it hurt or if it felt good. “C-Christian! Oh, god!”

 

 

“Take off your pants.” Christian grunted as he tore at their zippers.

 

 

“Christian, I’m s-scared-”

 

 

“Take off your fucking pants now!” Christian’s grated command vibrated down Bart’s spine. The artist didn’t consciously make the decision to do as he was told before he felt himself shoving his pants down and kicking them off his ankles. “Relax,” Christian hummed more gently once his hostage was complying with him again.

 

 

Bart whimpered as Christian yanked him away from the wall and positioned him onto his back. He pulled the artist’s shirt over his head, and Bart shivered as he became all too aware of the stranger’s sheets all along his naked body.

 

 

When he next felt Christian’s weight against him, on top of him, the priest was naked as well. They both groaned as their bodies connected. Christian found Bart’s hands to weave their fingers together and pin his arms beside his head before he gave into rolling their hips together for a time.

 

 

“Bart...” Christian’s voice was labored. “I’m going to let go of your h-hands.” He swallowed heavily. “The gun is under the pillow. Safety’s on, but still watch it. Don’t hit it if you start reaching for something to hang onto.” Bart arched up as he felt Christian’s mouth tasting his way downward. He took a moment to explore his nipple and enjoy how desperately it caused the artist to pulse against him before he slid back up to speak against the artist’s lips again. He sounded more hesitant this time. “And Bart?”

 

 

“Y-yes?”

 

 

“Don’t...don’t shoot me in the face.”

 

 

“Christian...I would never.”

 

 

Christian kissed him more gently and slowed the motion of his hips to better pace with the intimate contact. “Not...not that I care so much about dying. Bart. It’s just that there aren’t enough bullets in there for you to shoot your way out of this house. If they heard a gunshot, you wouldn’t even be able to get your clothes on before they’d be on you.” Bart’s answering whine sounded like he was far too close to tears again, so Christian comforted him. “That’s not a threat, baby. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Except by Christian, if Christian saw fit to hurt him.

 

 

The words worked to seduce him, however, and Bart’s tongue finally ventured to prod against Christian’s when he had been formerly only dominated by Christian’s exploration of his mouth. The priest forced patience as he held himself more still to encourage the touch. He didn’t expect the overwhelming warmth in his chest at the feel of the artist moving towards him instead of his constant flinching away.

 

 

He considered just dropping his hand and bringing them both off right there. Bart would probably be grateful that he didn’t rush him into intercourse so suddenly, but Christian wanted him so fucking bad it hurt. He needed to be inside him, needed to indulge the urge to claim him even though it was too painfully clear he already belonged to him. The thought caused him to dip his face into Bart’s neck with a possessive growl as he latched onto his neck and sucked hard to mark him.

 

 

Bart whimpered when he couldn’t squirm away from the discomfort. “C-Christian! P-please...please...oh thank god...” He shuddered when Christian finally released his throat and instead planted softer kisses along his skin to promise he was through hurting him. “W-why is it so dark in here? I can’t see anything at all.” Bart’s eyes were wide as the heat of Christian’s mouth moved steadily downward. He blinked rapidly as his eyes quickly dried out since he wasn’t aware of how hard he was trying and failing to get any light to his vision in his anxiety.

 

 

“Buddy has migraines. He’s got every crack of light in here sealed off because those are fucking painful as hell.” Christian sucked gently at Bart’s skin as he worked his way down his body, and though he didn’t hurt him again, Bart shivered each time his mouth landed on him in a lower position. “You don’t need to see, anyway. Just feel.”

 

 

The artist wasn’t sure what Christian’s plans were, but he quickly became completely enthralled as Christian’s hands and mouth moved across his entire body in the darkness with purpose and experience. Bart could feel the priest exhaling against his length long before he finally felt the soft heat of his tongue flatten against him. The artist gasped and arched up as his hands scrambled over his head for something to cling to.

 

 

The gun made a noisy metallic clink as it was pushed against the headboard. Christian’s mouth froze just as he reached the head of his cock. Bart’s fingers were carefully readjusting the gun to make sure he wasn’t about to accidentally blow out an eardrum, but Christian’s breath came faster against Bart’s length as he tensed at the telling noises.

 

 

Bart shuddered when Christian’s lips moved against his dick when he questioned him. “Bart? We...we okay here?” He pressed a kiss to the pulse against his lips as he tried to decide if Bart was considering killing him up there or not. Surely the guy wouldn’t chance aiming down at his own prick, right? “Baby...”

 

 

“Y-yeah.” Bart wriggled his hips against the tease of touch. He was so close to being enveloped in that warmth. So. Fucking. Close. “Christian. I’m n-not going to shoot you. Ever. Even if...even if I thought I could get away with it. I don’t want to hurt you.” He groaned as Christian’s tongue lapped against him again. “I l-looove you...” He didn’t realize he’d said it, even as Christian hesitated again. “Christian! Pleeease!” Christian finally took him into his mouth, and the artist fell apart. “Fuuuck....oh fuck oh god yes! Christian...holy shit...”

 

 

Bart lost track of reality, then, as Christian kept bringing him right to the edge of what he thought he could stand of both pleasure and discomfort only to pull back and coast him along between both worlds. The artist was so enraptured by the time Christian was crawling back up his body, he had no will to resist him easing his cock into him. He could only focus on Christian’s pleasured groans and the fact that he was causing the criminal to struggle for composure so unsuccessfully.

 

 

Christian gave him more than enough time to adjust before he angled just right to make Bart’s body convulse in shock. Bart didn’t realize his mouth was searching for something to latch onto until he was already confirming that Christian’s shoulder tasted far saltier than it should if he’d bothered to bathe often enough. He didn’t mind the taste, however, and Christian moaned as the artist’s tongue traveled up along his neck. When he nipped at Christian’s ear, the priest leaned into the sensation and his hips stuttered, so Bart took more time to explore the sensitive area.

 

 

Christian’s thrusts increased in speed as Bart’s tongue dipped into his ear. “Fuck! Fucking...fuck...baby....” Christian wasn’t as good with his words when he was on the verge of coming, apparently. 

 

 

Bart’s head dropped back as Christian drove into him mercilessly. “Christian! Th-there! Oh god right there don’t stop please god don’t stop I’m gonna come! Christian, I’m going to c-come-”

 

 

Christian didn’t have any plan of stopping, and he had no idea why Bart was begging him not to. He cursed gratefully when he finally felt Bart’s body seizing up around him. The artist clung to him more tightly than when he’d been trying to hide in his chest before. The priest had been struggling to hold out for so long that he was still riding out the waves of the artist’s release when he gave into his own.

 

 

They hadn’t been catching their breaths for long afterwards when Christian realized Bart was randomly whimpering. He muttered an apology when it became clear, after another few mewls, that it was because Christian was pushing into him every once in a while like some kind of sex-starved animal that wanted to make sure all his spunk stayed in place. He cleared his throat before carefully pulling out of him.

 

 

“Fuck.” Christian’s heart was still pounding as he rested his forehead on Bart’s. “Watch your eyes.”

 

 

His eyes? Why would he watch his eyes? “What? OUCH! CHRISTIAN! THERE WAS A LAMP RIGHT HERE ALL THIS TIME?” Bart yelped when Christian clamped onto his wrists and pushed his arms away from his face to look down at him. “W-what is it?” Bart’s eyes adjusted just enough to see Christian’s still-large pupils as he continued to frown against the bright light to look at him.

 

 

Bart studied him more closely when Christian didn’t answer him, and then he relaxed into the priest’s grip on his wrists. The criminal wasn’t angry with him or considering him harm. He simply wanted to look at him. He wanted to see what he’d done to him, and it was more than Bart needed to make the connection that Christian cared about him. Though, they might ought to consider having a conversation about boundaries, since Christian didn’t seem to consider whether Bart was okay with being stared at in such a disheveled state. Something told Bart it wouldn’t make any difference if Christian was aware of that anyway.

 

 

“Alright. Get your clothes on.” Christian grunted as he pushed himself to sit up. “We’ll go to the bathroom. I’ll stay with you. We’ll get something to drink or eat or some shit before we come back in here for some sleep.” He pressed his palms into his eyes. “It’s probably not a good idea to just stay in here naked.” He abruptly fell off the end of the bed with a loud curse.

 

 

Bart snorted. “Really, Christian? You had no trouble moving around this horrid place in pitch black, but the moment there is a light, your radar is off?”

 

 

Christian’s eyes were still so dark as he pulled himself up the foot of the bed and scowled towards him. Those dark eyes scanned Bart’s topless features as the artist tugged the sheets more fully around him. Christian suddenly seemed paranoid as he looked around the room. “P-put your clothes on! Put your clothes on or I’ll goddamn kill a man!”

 

 

“Um...” Bart scrambled for his clothes while hiding his entire body beneath the sheets. “Okay! Christian! Okay...” He tossed Christian’s clothes over the top of the sheets when he found his first. “Christian?” He laid back to fasten his pants, still beneath the covers, as he heard the criminal shuffling into his own clothes. The artist felt a mounting sense of panic. “Did I d-do something wrong? I...I didn’t mean to!” When he was clothed again, he pushed the covers down to find the priest staring down at him while he clasped his pants. “Christian...please don’t be angry with me.”

 

 

Bart started to sit up, but he sank back down when Christian crouched onto the bed a little too much like a predator and crawled over him. The artist’s head spun with adrenaline as Christian’s expression remained largely unreadable while the criminal hovered his lips over his. He seemed tense, irritated, and angry, but also curious; as if he didn’t quite understand what was going on between them and he needed to further pick it apart by drawing out reactions from Bart that the artist had no idea he was giving away. Christian’s lids drooped as if he was getting high off Bart trembling and whimpering beneath him.

 

 

Christian’s hand slid beneath the pillow, and Bart shuddered and turned his head away as he slowly withdrew the gun. The artist pressed his hands above his head in surrender, and he whined when Christian’s hand moved to hold them there while he juggled the gun as if he expected Bart to start struggling. He angled his face down to run his lips along Bart’s neck, but then they both stiffened as the door opened.

 

 

“Just gotta get a thing and I’ll be out of your way.” Buddy dug through a small wooden box before doing a double-take in their direction. “Jesus. He’s still alive? That’s a first.”

 

 

Bart whimpered audibly and his eyes went wide as Christian continued to hold him in place and trace his lips along him as if there wasn’t someone watching now.

 

 

“Thought for sure you were going to owe me another mattress when he managed to piss you off and you painted his brains across the place. Ah. Here it is. I’m out.” He waved a tiny bag of pills at them before pulling the door closed behind him.

 

 

Bart shivered as Christian’s voice vibrated right against his ear in a warning growl. “He has no idea how goddamn lucky he is that he didn’t walk in here and look at you a minute and half earlier.” He returned the safety on the gun.

 

 

Bart was terrified, but at the same time, he knew the criminal well enough to know that, for Christian, that was dangerously close to flirting. Apparently not killing you was also being sweet. A smile crept across Bart’s lips as he blushed and whispered shyly, “Christian...”

 

 

Christian’s mouth landed on the side of his neck that wasn’t covered in deep red marks, and Bart yelped as he felt the priest’s teeth against his skin. “C-Christian don’t h-hurt...don’t...hurt...gentle...please...” He wriggled gratefully when Christian listened to him and gave into simply kissing his throat before moving up to his bruised lips. Bart winced when the kiss was painful against his abused mouth from where Christian had already ravished him into a tender mess. “Y-you said we’re going to g-get a drink?”

 

 

Christian hummed an acknowledgement as his lips searched for places to conquer that didn’t yet cause Bart to flinch. He pulled away all at once and offered his hand to the artist to offer to lead him around rather than trying to speak with the same raspy, dry voice that was so far only working to cause Bart to curl in on himself.

 

 

Christian closed him into the bathroom. “Knock before you open the door, and don’t unlock it unless you hear me answer you.” Bart was surprised he was going to give him privacy as the criminal leaned back against the hallway and closed his eyes like he might nap standing up.

 

 

Bart gaped at himself in the mirror when he had a moment to himself. His lips were lightly swollen from kissing, his clothing and hair were disheveled, and his neck was littered with purple hickies and a set of teeth marks closer toward the bend of his neck.

 

 

“Jesus. I am going to die. He is going to kill me.” He expected his rear end to hurt more than it did, however, so at least there was that going for him. Christian hadn’t brutally raped him. Bart splashed water onto his face to gather himself. He cringed at the thought of how many people might have used the hand towel and rudely dug for a fresh towel in the cabinets instead.

 

 

Christian didn’t let Bart wait for him outside the door, however, when it was his turn. He snorted as Bart hid his face against the door as he took a piss like he was embarrassed to see his cock or something.

 

 

“Should we get our shoes?” Bart felt odd stepping down the stairs through the busy crowd in his socks.

 

 

“No. I have the gun. We don’t have to run anywhere.” Christian led him to the kitchen. “You like this?” He shook a box of cereal at the artist, and when he nodded, he dug around for one large bowl and two spoons. He then poured some milk in the bowl and led Bart to the living room. He directed him to sit on the floor in front of a couch and sat the bowl on the coffee table in front of him.

 

 

Bart grabbed for his arm when he thought Christian meant to walk away. “I’ll be right here.” Christian allowed him to cling to his arm while he stepped behind him, shoved a person to the side, and sank into place on the couch. Bart felt more than a little awkward as Christian’s legs boxed him in against the coffee table as the priest leaned over him to pour the cereal, but he found he also felt safe from the same busy atmosphere that he feared was judging him for the public display of familiarity between them.

 

 

“Christian!” Bart whined when the criminal dripped milk all over him as he brought his spoon to his mouth over his head. The artist had only taken a few bites before his attention shifted to a woman who began to coo at him as she shuffled through an abandoned pack of cigarettes on the coffee table in front of him. He shrank back into Christian’s body when he confirmed she was indeed speaking to him.

 

 

“Aw look at you! You’re still alive! Imagine that!” She offered him a cigarette, but Bart only stared at her in terror before mechanically lifting an empty spoon to his mouth when he failed to realize he’d trembled all the food off it.

 

 

“Of course he’s still alive!” Christian swiped the cigarette from her violently and put it to his lips without lighting it. When she giggled and continued on her way, he tossed it back onto the table and sighed noisily. “You didn’t want that, did you?”

 

 

“Ew! Disgusting! No!” Bart turned his nose up before looking back down when Christian grabbed his arm and held it in front of his face to show Bart how hard his hand was shaking as the spoon vibrated violently.

 

 

“You sure? You seem a little tense.”

 

 

“N-no, thank you.” Bart scoffed when Christian dripped more milk on him, but he pressed back closer to him when the thrumming of the music began to make his tormented brain swim too rapidly.

 

 

“Eat a little more than that.” When Bart groaned, he coaxed him. “Five bites. Then we’ll go back upstairs.”

 

 

Bart had to admit that this attentive version of Christian was both refreshing and frightening. He did as he was told and was relieved when Christian took him back to the perceived safety of the closed-off bedroom.

 

 

He wasn’t sure if he was fearing Christian _would_ come close to him when he arranged his back against the wall, or if he was more nervous that he _wouldn’t_. He closed his eyes as he felt Christian’s body slide flush against him, and he listened to the almost nonexistent clicking of him playing with the gun as he pushed it beneath their pillow. He relaxed as he survived one more threat of a quick flick of Christian’s gun-wielding hand.

 

 

Christian gave Bart a small amount more space than he had before when he was facing him and trying to calm the artist out of disturbing their host. The priest’s fingers twitched against Bart’s side as he considered pulling him closer. He didn’t have to wait long for Bart to get insecure and lean his face into his chest, however, and he tangled their legs together before stiffening when he realized Bart was inhaling deeply against him again.

 

 

“You’re so fucking weird.” Christian complained, but he tucked his arms around him and pulled him close to encourage it. He kissed the top of his head several times, and Bart melted against him desperate for affection. The artist yipped when Christian’s hand suddenly groped between his legs to find him hard. “Uh huh,” Christian confirmed.

 

 

Bart gulped. “C-Christian, I’m so fucking sore...everywhere...”

 

 

“Calm down.” Christian tugged at Bart’s zipper and slid his hand beneath his waistband. Bart’s hips jerked and he sighed wantonly as his fingers curled around him. “I won’t try to fuck you for a few days. You’re alright.”

 

 

Christian’s heart twitched when he felt the warmth of Bart’s breath quickly intensify against his chest through his shirt. Even if that hadn’t clued him in that the artist’s mouth had fallen open, he would have confirmed it when Bart began to absently chew at his shirt as Christian’s hand continued to move against him steadily. He pressed his lips to the top of his head again repeatedly, and Bart hummed pitifully.

 

 

Bart began a steady chant of Christian’s name as his fingers clenched in the priest’s shirt. When the artist finally shivered and convulsed into his hand, Christian groaned in approval. The criminal’s heart was pounding, but he made no move to pursue his own pleasure. Instead, he tucked Bart away, wiped his hand on the sheets, and moved to hold him again.

 

 

“Now go to fucking sleep before I goddamn die. It’s been three fucking days. Jesus.” He said this as if it was all Bart’s fault, but the artist only responded by whimpering in exhaustion as his eyes immediately obeyed him and fluttered closed.

 

 

The artist thought to himself, as he felt the press of Christian’s lips against his head, that perhaps he would be able to better ignore it when people kept questioning how he was still alive after being so close to the criminal for so long. He breathed him in again as the sounds of the busy house finally began to blur into the distance as he drifted into sleep.

 

 

  

 


End file.
